Dear SR,
I found myself thinking a lot about the idea of what hurts me lately. Can’t say why, but when I get tired and can’t sleep at night I find myself diving into my personal thoughts a bit more than I would like. I’m sure you know what I’m talking about. Over the past few days I have been struggling with just living a bit normally. What’s causing this feeling to be more intense than usual, I can’t say. Or perhaps I can, but don’t want to face that fact. I tend to do that a lot. Either way, it brought back a memory you and I shared back before everything happened. I suddenly remembered it clear as day and I can’t exactly locate the reason that is.
You and I were walking up a road which happened to be on an incline. We were heading uphill and we were carrying some totes which contents I can hardly remember. I offered to carry it because you had shared with me that you were exhausted earlier. Throughout the whole time we were heading up that narrow sidewalk you kept calling from behind, “Are you sure you can carry that? We can switch off if its too much,” or “Please don’t over exert yourself. I know it’s heavy.” I tried to reassure you I was fine, but despite all that you persisted. Probably somewhere about two thirds of the way up we took a break as the way we were walking stopped being smoothly paved road and had become a path comprised of hard dirt and uneven rocks. You kept trying to get me to give you a turn at carrying it when we started up again. Saying something along the lines of my feet must be hurting so I should it to you for the bit of the walk we had left.
But the part that sticks out to me was what followed. You asked a very simple question.
“Doesn’t it hurt?”
I have no idea where the words that came next were from, but I expressed probably some of my most genuine and honest thoughts on the subject in a way I usually can’t. Honestly, it sounds a bit cheesy as if from some monologue or book or piece of fiction writing, but I still said it.
I responded to you saying, “Yeah. It hurts. Carrying something heavy up this hill in shoes that are definitely not made for the job leaves my feet wanting a break. It’s painful…But I don’t hate pain. Rather I hate where pain comes from. I hate that pain for some can be stubbing your toe and for others it can be feeling trapped and alone. I hate that it can be simple like hitting your head on the shelf of your pantry but also complicated like losing everyone you’ve ever loved. I hate the idea that someone can find pain in all of those things even though they seem so different. I hate that pain can come from joy and that pain can come from sorrow. And I hate that for those who’ve been through every one of those scenarios, that it exists in all of it. Pain is inevitable and in a way it’s a gift. It’s one of the best teachers I have ever known. Without the capacity for pain, we can never understand the hurt that we inflict. So it’s not pain I hate. It’s pains unfortunate existence in so much of how we live that I hate.”
After I said that you gave me a blank stare. Your look showed you understood, but didn’t know what to say next.
So, if I remember correctly after a moment of hesitation I walked back over to the tote, picked it up and said, “let’s keep going,” and we never talked about that again.
Perhaps you came to understand it so there was no need to continue the topic. I can’t say for sure as I can’t really be inside your head. If anything you came to learn something new about me that day. Either way, because of how the rest of the day went so normally, I sort of didn’t think about it till just now. I didn’t forget about it or anything, it’s just with how everything surrounding it was so normal it just sort of sat in my head completely static with nothing paying any mind towards it.
Isn’t that kind of funny. What seems like such an inconsequential moment actually turned out to be a stand out memory in my mind. I suppose when things are as complicated as they are between us, the little things can feel like they mean so much more. Or maybe it isn’t a little thing to me. Maybe it stands out more than I think, but I just haven’t spent the mind space to think about it at all until now. I feel like I do that from time to time. I just sometimes don’t process the impact or meaning or weight of something until much later. Especially the things I feel strongly about.
Whether I see it as important or not though, I still find it fascinating how those who are close to one another find so much pleasure in remembering the little things that seem so irrelevant to the bigger picture. Perhaps its because I’d give anything to share those small moments again. Sure the big stuff seems like what it is what you will look back on in the moment, but I find myself unable to escape the thought of the small pleasant moments I share among those I love and care about. I feel like this is a rather familiar phenomenon among other people. But I can’t say with certainty why.
Anyways I’m off topic. I wanted to talk about that idea of pain I mentioned initially. Although honestly, I think I like where this letter went better. It was the thought of the concept and my relationship with it lately that reminded me of that moment we shared, and I think I am content with that. I don’t need to go down the rabbit hole of my own strange mindscape the comes with a topic like that. I’m not sure if I’d even be able to make sense of it myself. So, you know what? I’m going to leave it there. Let’s end this letter on a more positive note for once. Well, I’m not sure if you would consider it positive, but the memory I shared with you is. So, however you choose to interpret all this, I appreciate the time we shared together. I’m always grateful for that, even if it didn’t turn out the way I hoped it would.
love always,
wb